no, no, no // number four

[saltgunning]

[Dean looks very much worse for wear as he finally stumbles into his townhouse. He's got a six o'clock shadow going on- maybe worse. The dark rings under his eyes, the dirt on his clothing - it's obvious Dean hasn't been home, hasn't rested, for a long while. His voice is hoarse with exhaustion when he speaks.]

Goddamnit. First I get sent on some

Comments

[ad_perditionem]

...Dean?

Dean, calm down. We'll find him. It's okay.

[saltgunning]

[It's a sign of his weariness that he actually starts, giving Sam the most incredibly blank look before weariness settles over him again]

Not my Sam. Right. Listen, he's gone. I looked all over this damn city. It's been weeks.

Not to mention all his crap is gone from our old place.

[ad_perditionem]

[a strange expression flits over Sam's face: confusion, followed closely by shock and then a dull horror. He bites his knuckle, head bowed, and finally shakes his head]

He won't be coming back.

H-He's gone. The city took him. When their things just---when they---they don't come back.

[saltgunning]

[dully]

I realized that.

Now what? Did he go back home? Will he-- [just cuts off the "be okay" because he's Dean and can't express things like that in the normal way. Instead he just swallows hard, jaw clenching.]

[discardedwish]

...

[saltgunning]

... what?

[discardedwish]

You're making an angry face ...

[saltgunning]

No shit, Sherlock.

[captaininnuendo]

Woah! Dean, calm down!

I think you're gonna do more a number on your fist than that wall.